Talk:Everything Destroyed in the Series/@comment-98.231.87.35-20200214011700
“Shit, you think we lost him?” “Not so loud,” I whispered, “He’ll hear you.” Jonathan didn’t reply. Hearts pounding, we crouched behind the bushes trying to breath as silently as we could. Minutes passed like hours. Our breathing began to slow. “I don’t hear him,” said Jonathan. “I’m gonna make a break for it. You go the other way.” “Right,” I said, nodding. “There’s no way he can catch both of us.” We stood up to run, and immediately a bright flashlight beam swung over us. “Hey!” shouted a commanding voice. “Stop right there.” We bolted, sprinting off in opposite directions as fast as our legs could carry us. I chanced a quick look over my shoulder to see that the officer had abandoned chasing me, and was running after Jonathan. He was gaining on him. I turned away and kept right on running, though I could hear the snapping of twigs as two bodies thudded to the ground, followed by loud barks from the officer to stop resisting arrest. I didn’t turn around that time. My lungs felt ready to catch fire by the time I stumbled onto my porch, sweaty and disheveled. I shambled through the doorway and collapsed on the floor, wheezing hard. I quickly just the door and locked it behind me, closed my eyes, and waited for my heart to slow down. Ahem Oh no. I knew that throat clear. I opened my eyes to see my mother, standing in the dim light of the living room in her bathrobe. Her lips were pursed into a thin white line, and the tendons in her neck stood out. “And what exactly have you been up to, young man?” she said in her trademark tone of restrained anger and deep-seated disappointment. There was no point lying now, I was busted. And if she didn’t find out from me, she was sure to find out from Jonathan’s mom. If that happened, I’d be even worse off than I already was now. I decided to come clean. “Jonathan and I were out egging houses, and we got chased by a police officer. I think Jonathan got arrested.” My mom raised a penciled-in eyebrow. “Well,” she said, sighing. “Go on up to bed, we can talk about this tomorrow, after school.” “Yes ma’am,” I said, picking myself up and dragging myself off to bed. My head was filled with hopes that by tomorrow she would have had a chance to cool off, and it wouldn’t be so bad for me. But I knew that was pointless. My mom never cooled off. She stoked her anger like a fire, until you could see it burning in her eyes. Come tomorrow, I was dead. At least, that’s what I thought. Shit, that’s what I wish had happened. But when tomorrow rolled around, my mom’s anger would have vanished completely. And with good reason. The bus dropped me off in front of my house. As I stared at the front door, my stomach twisted itself up in knots. I trudged slowly towards the door, but before I could reach it it was flung open and my mom rushed out. She sprinted at me with arms outstretched. I thought at first she was going to hit me, but instead she collided with me and locked me into a tight embrace. Her face was wet with tears. “Oh honey,” she gasped. “Oh honey, thank god you’re okay.” I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. “Come on in and sit down,” she said. “Oh, honey.” She clutched my tightly with both hands and marched me into the house, where she deposited me on the sofa. Finally, I found my voice. “Mom?” I said. “What’s going on.” She frowned, and her pencil-thin eyebrows scrunched together in the middle of her forehead. “Honey, what I”m going to tell you is going to be shocking, so just please… please try to… oh, I don’t know…” “Mom? You’re scaring me. Just tell me, what is it?” She looked down at the ground. Never in my mom’s life had she not been able to look me in the eyes. The knots already in my stomach grew tighter. “Your friend Jonathan,” she said. “He’s…passed away.” “What?” “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “But that doesn’t make any sense!” I said, my voice suddenly too loud. “He was just tackled by the cop. How could that kill him? Did they… oh god, did they shoot him?” My mom shook her head ever so slightly. The tears dried up, and she clenched her jaw. Her voice was flat and far away as she spoke. “The police think--” she stopped. “The police think it was a serial killer,” she said. “WHAT!?” “They said he dresses up as a cop or a repairman to get into people’s houses, and Jonathan….well…. was his type.” I felt tears sting the edges of my eyes. “What did he do to him?” I demanded. But I already knew. I’d read about the killer in the paper. I hoped Jonathan’s death had been quick, but I knew it hadn’t. The knots in my stomach came undone all at once, and I sprayed vomit onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, honey,” said my mom’s voice, from somewhere very far away. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel my lungs deflate. My hands went numb, and darkness enveloped my world as I fell. After I fainted, my mom must have moved me into my bed. I lay and stared at the ceiling in shock. How could things possibly get any worse? I’ve since grown to think that question is cursed. Every time you ask it, things always somehow get worse. It was a few days later when the police came knocking on our door. I heard the muffled sounds of arguing and cracked open my door to see my mother in handcuffs. She was kicking and cursing at the officers as quietly as she could. Looking back, she must have not wanted me to hear. She never would have wanted me to see her in handcuffs. But then I wasn’t thinking of that. I rushed towards my mother. “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded. The officers gave each other a look. The older one turned to me, face and voice filled with pity. “We’re gonna leave someone here with you to watch over you, son. And… I’m really sorry about this.” Seeing me deflated my mom’s fighting spirit, and she let the officers carry her away as I stood dumb, rooted to the spot, without the presence of mind to even close the door. The news was all over the town in a few days. Jonathan hadn’t been murdered by the serial killer--he’d been murdered by a drug-addled meth head named Tom Sykes. Sykes had copied the killer’s M.O., but he was sloppy enough to leave fingerprints which the police immediately connected to him. Once they found him a few days later, he immediately gave up his co-conspirator for a deal. He told them that he had been hired to kill the boy--by my mother. The reason she gave him for the kill? That Jonathan was a bad influence on me, that he’d gotten me into all sorts of criminal mischief and one day he’d get me killed. I supposed I can understand my mom’s twisted logic, even though I don’t agree with it. She always loved me in her own way, but that way was full of anger, violence and lies. Though I’ve tried many times, I’ve never been able to bring myself to forgive her. I doubt I ever will.